


milk and honey

by bbyunnie



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Modern Era, Multiverse, Oneshot Series, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-07-07 12:10:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15908013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bbyunnie/pseuds/bbyunnie
Summary: A series of oneshots centered around Eren and Mikasa, across variant universes and situations.





	1. take a bath with me

Eren has never felt so tired. He doesn't realize how exhausted he is until Mikasa's hands begin a journey of focus on his backside, kneading his neck and shoulders. Knots roll from beneath his skin and against the surface of her calloused palms, and he stifles a groan against the side of the tub. There is a softness that comes along with her touch, a femininity that arches slender digits into a poise. The water makes it slippery, but she doesn't miss an inch.

He probably still reeks, he hasn't showered in weeks. He can't tell if that is the reason for her bathsharing suggestion, or if she just simply craves what he craves. Skin to skin contact. Intimacy.

She might as well have scrubbed his skin raw with the way she runs the worn sponge across his long and lean figure. It is almost like she is angry with him - she doesn't make eye contact with him, almost like she cannot at the time, stormy grey hues glues to everywhere but his eyes. This isn't the same Mikasa that talked him into taking a bath with her - soft-spoken, lips on his skin, fingers running through his hair, breasts pressed against his chest as her hands found his in the middle - the same Mikasa that guided him into the washroom, patient and gentle, the same Mikasa that stopped him from running into the wall because he was so out of it, the same Mikasa that stripped him in all senses of the word. No. This is a stranger.

He doesn't blame her for feeling this way. He is selfish. He is cold. He does everything that would turn a normal person away but she still chooses to stick by him, foolishly. He even _knows_  that, and yet, he keeps hoping - for what? She can never abandon him. She will fight by his side no matter what choice he makes, no matter who gets caught in the crossfire of his sins. She will tell him of his wrongs, attempt to get him to see reason, and maybe she will get to him. Maybe there are moments where their eyes meet and she thinks she can see a flicker of that passionate fifteen year old boy with dreams of the impossible.

That boy died a long time ago. Hope is a construct, and he fell for it. Dreams are escapes for naive children, and he had been one of them. Kill all the titans and all their problems would vanish, he'd preach. He'd finally be able to avenge his mother, avenge those who have fallen, and save humanity from their blind, livestock living.

But vengeance won't bring back the dead.

It won't bring back Marco.

Or Petra.

Aurou. Eld. Gunter.

Mike.

Erwin.

His mother.

_Sasha._

And here Mikasa is, fighting for a lost cause, fighting for someone who doesn't want to save _himself._ Fighting for someone who only has so much time left with her, who doesn't even learn to appreciate her until it is too late, until he realizes that time is against him and finally decides _then_ to do something, _and_ he continues to take her for granted. Even subconsciously.

How do you explain _that_ to the girl you love?

He doesn't apologize until she is finished, until it is her turn and he picks up the raggedy looking thing - seriously, it is hideous - and lathers it up until he sees fit, rubbing it against her skin in lazy semicircles. He quickly grows impatient with it and begins using his hands instead, leaning until his chin dips slowly into the ivory surface that is her shoulder, turning so his lips can press against her cheek. Then her jawline. She relaxes under his touch, shoulders sinking and folding inward as he holds her to him.

Humming softly, Mikasa follows his slouch down into the tub. His arms rise across her sternum, pushing her breasts up slightly from the momentum, but she's comfortable. Her eyes remain shut. "What is it?"

"I'm sorry," he mumbles.

"Don't."

"Why not?"

"Because you don't have to explain yourself. You'll start to stress."

 _"You_ try having voices in your head and see how well you turn out."

She grows quiet. He nudges her. "...How many voices are there?" Her inquiry comes out in a small voice, used in an octave he has not heard since they were nine. Eyelids flutter open, gaze vacant.

His head tilts. "Four. There's my dad," he begins ticking off his fingers whilst remaining held to her, "Frieda, Kruger, and -"

"The War-Hammer?"

"Yes."

"How does that..."

"Work?"

"Yes."

"I dunno how to explain it."

"You just admitted to having voices in your head. Now you _have_ to explain yourself."

Naturally.

Any other person would report him to the psych ward immediately.

But Mikasa's not just any other person. "Yeah. I sound fucking insane."

She's kind of _everything._

"You are." He doesn't deserve her. The lucky bastard.

"Shut up." He nibbles her ear. She giggles and swats at him, and he catches the hand to kiss it. "It's hard to explain it because it's not as concrete as you think. I'm still getting bits and pieces, but sometimes I don't know what's real and what's not." He absentmindedly begins playing with her fingers, admiring the contrast of their skin, their likeness in shape. But in size he clearly exceeds. Mikasa's hand only covers a third of his now, and that's at full stretch across the palm. He remembers when they shared the same size in everything: same hands, except hers were always a little more slender; same shirt size; same pants size - her hips were just bigger. Thighs thicker. It all came with age.

Then suddenly he was seventeen, and he shot up.

By eighteen, he had her by half a foot.

By nineteen, he became broad - in every sense of the word. And he's _still_ getting used to limbs that were alien to him.

"I'm real," she whispers to him, watching, bemused. Her train of thought is heading in his direction, he is sure.

"You are," he agrees, dropping another kiss to her forehead. Instinctual, natural. "Armin's gotta be going through it too. Does he tell you anything?"

She shakes her head. "If he does, I don't know about it."

"Oh."

"Eren," the raven treads gently. "You have to understand. Things have changed between us. It's not the same -"

"But you talk. I know you do."

Miksasa sighs. "We're friends, yes. I will always love him, absolutely. I will protect him until my last dying breath, without hesitation."

"Yeah."

"If he wanted me to know something, I am sure he will tell me. Until then, I don't mind waiting until he's ready to come to me, about any issue."

"Waiting is no fun."

"Now you know how I felt."

Eren frowns. Whether she is referring to his feelings, or a direct jab to his sudden departure, he isn't sure. But there is one thing for certain. She is talking about his _character_ \- the way he handles situations with his emotions, the way he becomes deadset in focus on achieving his ends without thinking about the people he effects, both directly and indirectly. "That's different."

"Is it?"

"Yeah."

"Tell me."

 _"Tell_ you?" He snorts. Mikasa? Wanting an emotionally constipated, _sleep-deprived_ Eren Jaeger to accurately talk about his feelings? Hilarious. "Why ask questions you already know the answers to?"

"Because I'm interested," she turns slightly so she could lift a finger and press into his temple, "in what's going on in there."

"The musings of a _suicidal bastard."_ His laugh comes off almost cold, never reaching his eyes. "Nothin' new."

"I think that _suicidal bastard_ is just a name." A shoulder lifts. "It doesn't define who you are."

"Who am I, then?" He elaborates, "To you?" because he isn't ready to open _that_ door for himself.

"You're reckless," she speaks without hesitation, and his breath catches. "But you're also calculated, and guarded. Cold. Manipulative. You act before you think, but at the same time you don't always think things fully through before acting on the choices you make, regardless of what happens around you. That's the side of you that everyone sees."

Pause.

"But at the same time, you're...soft."

And then -

_"Soft?"_

"You care."

"And that makes me _soft?"_

"It does when you start blushing when you talk about the way you feel." She peers up to him, a small smile curving her lips upward at the sight of his reddening face. "See?"

_...Because you're important to me. **More than anyone.**_

Fuck. _Fuckfuckfuck._ "S-Shut -"

She blinks, cheeks rosy upon realization."Cute..."

"Ah? Cut it out, Mikasa!" By now she's made a complete one-eighty degree, and the only reason why her hands aren't able to reach his burning face is because he is physically holding her back. Their fingers are laced together just over his shoulders, fingertips digging into the other's knuckles; she is straddling him in attempts to gain control, and he can feel her. Like, _feel her,_ feel her.

"Cut it out or I'm getting out." And that's to her _and_ her sinful body parts.

Mikasa's gaze darkens. "You wouldn't." Her lips start to - wait, was she _pouting?_ "- Would you?"

"I mean it."

She stares at him, cocks her head to the side, gives him one hard look before she surrenders with his hands clasped around her wrists. Would she ultimately lose to him if she tries, or does she still have an advantage? She'd rather not find out. At least not right now, while they are at their most vulnerable. "Okay."

He leans in and steals a kiss. "Okay?" Just because.

Just because? "Okay." She's fine with that.

Another. "Good." He smiles, and it meets his eyes this time. She smiles back, and his stomach would not stop doing somersaults.

This is how they will remain. Glued to each other, attached at the hip, unable to keep wandering hands to themselves that night. With every touch, every kiss and gasp, Eren makes sure he does not miss an inch of her because he has no doubt in his mind that this is real. Her heartbeat? Real. Her pink lips caressing his skin where her hands do not touch? Real. Their fingers lacing over her stomach when they finish, curling up in his cell together? Real.

And when she tells him she loves him?

"Don't leave," brokenly he utters, "please."

Her response is automatic, without pause. _"Never."_

Oh yeah. Very real.


	2. when the morning breaks us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This isn’t the first time she seeks him at night, nor will it be her last, he thinks. But by judging the thoughtful expression on her face, she comes tonight not just for another ear. No. This is different. This is familiar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eremika + you still have bad dreams at night ? + things you said with no space between us + and I didn’t care what happened to you. requested by happymikasa.
> 
> this is a mature one. warning ya now.

“And I didn’t care what happened to you.” The words that fall are nothing short of truth, gaze unblinking as he stares. Arm is slung over risen knee, chest rising and falling as he breathes. Stone walls are cold to the touch, if you’re not used to it enough.

Eren is immune by now. He doesn’t sleep. Often, at least. Maybe you can catch him sitting up somewhere, one eye fluttered shut, the other slacking open. He rises when need be, completes his tasks for the evening, and returns back to his cell. Rinse, and repeat. He does not understand why they continue to keep him here, all the while knowing of his intentions, but he decides to go with the flow of things for the sake of saving a headache. Well, kind of.

Raven haired companion sits opposite him, arms folded, legs crossed, expression pensive. She does not recoil upon hearing his confession, does not appear hurt, or offended. After being by the other’s side for a solid decade, you’d think you’d know a person. For Mikasa, she cannot say she recognizes the man before her. It is like looking at a stranger, attempts at communicating, futile. She cannot go to him for emotional support, she cannot depend on him like she used to. Yet despite Eren constantly pushing her away, it only makes that curiosity of hers _pique_. Because the Eren she knows is still _in_ there. Somewhere.

“I know,” she says.

“Then why are you here?” It is a genuine question, but comes off bitter on Eren’s tongue. A moment’s pause, and he interjects, assumes her reasoning himself. “You still have bad dreams at night?”

“Sometimes.” Might as well be honest, if nothing else. “Don’t you?”

“Sometimes.”

She chews on her bottom lip. “Eren.” A moment’s pause. She moves closer, uses her fists to push herself up.

Boy frowns as confusion befalls upon him. “What are you doing?” he questions, wonders of her motive. This isn’t the first time she seeks him at night, nor will it be her last, he thinks. But by judging the thoughtful expression on her face, she comes tonight not just for another ear. No. This is different. This is familiar. Memories of three years ago that he spent just as long attempting to subdue rise to the forefront of his mind instead. His emotions are a dangerous thing, betray him as heartbeat quickens in response to her closeness. Their knees are touching now, faces only inches apart. She is so close that he can count every single eyelash, study the way those storm colored hues of hers soften when he does not look away.

“Mikasa.” His warning is low, labored, despite his gaze briefly flickering to her lips.

“Eren,” she says back evenly. It is a whisper, breath caressing his skin. And for a moment, he is a teenager again. For a moment, he sees only her. Her dilated pupils as they grow with piquing desire, the gentle rise and fall of her chest, ivory colored skin contrasting the black that she wears, rose colored lips parting, awaiting for him to devour.

“We can’t,” he murmurs, almost to himself. _They shouldn’t_.

“I know.” But her cheeks are cradled by his hands now, keeping her there as he wrestles with himself. To take advantage of this vulnerability reaches a new low for him, to _give in_ to his humanity and take back what’s rightfully his, _selfish_.

Mikasa does not move.

Eren’s lips pull back, not enough to show teeth, but far enough to express the mask of a war that rages within him. The longer they sit, the more he desires her. The more he thinks about it, the more she’s _all_ he can think about.

For a reason he knows not, Eren finally gives in with a groan filled with frustration, pulling her forward for a searing kiss that leaves them both breathless. Arms twine around neck, fingers gripping and digging into his scalp. She’s beneath him before he can stop himself, shirt ripping from the seams by greedy hands before he can count to ten.

And she has the _audacity_ to voice the rising sin, “We shouldn’t be doing this,” breathes hot and heavy down Eren’s neck as her fingers dug into the back of his shoulder blade, pulling him closer despite her words. He scoops an arm under her, pulling her further upwards in the sheets.

 _“I know.”_ His lips never leave her throat, hand cupping around her thigh to hitch her leg up, fingers slipping under her knee. “I know.” They have done this dance before, in what feels like a lifetime ago. Back then, they were two different souls, but they belonged.

_They belonged._

_“Eren.”_ Almost a whimper, a plea. Slender digits tremble as they work the buttons on his shirt, but he is impatient, and takes care of the rest. Her touch is hungry, lips taking care of what her hands can’t. She’s missed him, so much that she _ached_.

“Mikasa,” he cries, _whines_ , ruts against her like an animal in heat when she snakes her hand down his pants, seeks the forbidden. They become a nuisance, quickly, and are next to hit the floor. He can feel her tremble as his kisses lower, leaves her neck to dare further, over the curve of her breasts. “You’re shaking.” Tugs the fabric of her brassiere down, “It’s just me,” mouth closing around a perked nipple. Her fingernails dig into his ribs, dragging up as she coos and arches her back against him. His hands seek hers, movements slow as he coaxes her arms above her head, securing her with one hand.

“I know,” she breathes back when she finds her voice, gaze hazy. “I’m sorry.” As he lingers above her now, she wishes she had her hands free so she can reach up to cup his face, perhaps bring him down to kiss him, whisper upon him sweet nothings.

“Don’t,” he mumbles against her jaw, releasing grip. Kisses her there before continuing his venture, lowers to her waistline. They make eye contact when his fingers dip into the waistband, cups around the hem of her underwear simultaneously. He pauses. Waits.

She nods. Lifts her hips.

She is naked in one final swoop, the cold draft a cruel reality to the dropping temperature. Instinctively covers herself with her arms, legs turning inward.

“Cold?” he guesses, pushing trousers down long limbs. He does not want to believe she is growing shy on him now. Not after she was so quick to -

“C’mere.” Soft, so soft he would be a fool to resist. Mikasa lifts her arms and he goes to her like a lovestruck teenager - which is not far from the truth. Pressed flush against her, Eren can feel _everything_. Her racing heart, matching his, her hot, soft skin, her desire running slick against his leg. He groans, lets a hand sneak down between them in the midst of a kiss.

 _“Ah,”_ Mikasa breathes in his ear, voice rising in octave. Hips buck into his touch, mouth goes further agape, head falls back to pillow. He’s watching her, transfixed by her flushed cheeks and heaving breasts. Voice is low, husky when he speaks again.

“Is this what you want?” Unfair he is, to be asking such a question when his love is now riding his fingers. But he wants to be sure. _God,_ he wants to be sure. He cannot say no, not after they have let themselves get this far. He is at his point of no return, but, as he always had, makes _sure_ that she wants him as much as he wants _her_.

“Yes.” There goes the third finger. “ _Yes._ ”

All he needs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shout out to y'all who've been waiting so patiently for this. thanks so much!
> 
> I decided to rename this fic as milk and honey, because it honestly just fits.


End file.
